


Preparations of the Dead

by keyboardclicks



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, I'm a horrible person, M/M, alan's a major character right?, sadfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyboardclicks/pseuds/keyboardclicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan Humphries was dead.<br/>Eric Slingby was alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First thing in the Morning

Alan Humphries was dead.  
It had been a quiet death, one Eric assumed had come in his sleep. When the blond awoke in the morning he found his lover's body limp in his arms, and cold as if he had forgotten to breath. It was not a shock; just the previous night Alan had told him how weak and tired he felt. He had known it was coming; so had Eric. Still, when morning came and Eric felt a cold body in his embrace, he lay for what could have been hours, eyes shut, refusing to wake to reality. Only when the morning light blared onto Eric's face from the window did he accept what awaited his gaze.  
Alan's face was peaceful, Eric discovered when he found the strength to fumble with his glasses. It seemed the death had not come from the violent attacks Alan so often suffered, but more gently. Had Eric not known better, he would have guessed the other sleeping, but Alan's body was always warm in the mornings.  
For a while longer, Eric again laid there, staring at his lover's still face, straightening out his messy hair with affectionate touches. No tears stung at his eyes, nor did his chest heave with sobs; in fact, Eric realized that he did not feel sad. The only thing Eric felt... was empty. There was no anger, no sadness, no regret; there was not anything he had expected to feel when the inevitable became true. That being said, Eric found absolutely no motivation to move from his spot in bed, and almost considered just going back to sleep and pretending it was all a dream. He decided, though, that he should probably do something about the situation. So, he rose from the bed and began wandering aimlessly around their small apartment.  
It was almost nine in the morning; they should have been to work about an hour ago. Spears had stopped calling for them when they were late, as Alan had been growing so weak in the last few months that it took them extra time to get ready in the morning. Sometimes Alan just lied in bed until he felt strong enough to move. Eric thought about how miserable he had been, confined to desk work as his condition deteriorated, too weak to use his scythe...  
His next thought was that he should probably call into work and let Spears know. Wandering into the living room, he picked up the phone and dialed his boss's number, hearing two rings before an answer. “William Spears's office, Grell Sutcliff speaking~”  
“Red, put Spears on.” Eric's voice was gruff from the morning.  
“Eric? Oh when are you and Alan going to get here? It's so boooooring-”  
“Red,” Eric repeated, “ _put Spears on_.”  
“Well then,” said the other with an eye roll, “you could at least say hello. Here he is, just back from the break room. Will~ Phone for you~”  
There was a brief discussion on the other end about how Grell should not be in Will's office and definitely not be answering his phone, before the expected voice said, “This is Spears.”  
“Alan's dead.” Eric cut right to it, voice flat and hollow.  
“Pardon?”  
“Alan's dead,” he repeated. The other end was silent for a few moments.  
“Humphries has-?”  
“He's dead,” said Eric for the third time. “Died in his sleep. Thought I should let you know.”  
“...I see. Yes, thank you for informing me.”  
“I'm not comin' in today,” Eric added, voice still hollow.  
“No, I would not expect you to. Please do whatever you feel is necessary.”  
“I know Alan was writing a... what's it called? A Will? He had some... final wishes he talked about.”  
“I see.”  
“I'll take a look at it; think he mentioned wanting a burial, like humans have. I'll take care of it all, I guess.” It was a rare night Alan hadn't talked about his death lately; Eric knew the Will was in an envelope set on top of the bookshelf in the spare room. He would read it, eventually.  
“If that is what he wished then I am sure we will all do our best to honor it,” Spears said in his usual tone, then adding, “If there is anything I can do to assist...”  
“I'll let you know. I guess you can go ahead and tell everyone else; no use keeping it a secret.”  
There was more silence.  
“I'm gonna go, then.”  
“Very well. Goodbye, Reaper Slingby.”  
“Yeah. Bye.”  
As Eric was hanging up, he heard the other voice in the room ask, “What's going on, Wi-” before the line went dead.


	2. Leave the Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a few moments Alan seems more a live than he ever did before.

For the next few hours, Eric did almost nothing but lay on the couch in the small living room. The only reason he left said couch was to take a piss and get some food when his stomach began grumbling so loud he was absolutely unable to ignore it. When the clock read that it was nearly noon, Eric begrudgingly agreed with the better part of his brain that told him he needed to take care of Alan's body. He was unsure exactly of the processes that came along with the death of a Reaper's body, but regardless it was likely a bad thing to leave it laying in the bed in the other room.  
Unable to bring himself to again face the sight in the bedroom, Eric found himself drawn to the spare room, which was lined with bookshelves. On one said bookshelf there was a large envelope, sealed tight. Eric took it into his hands and slumped into the comfortable chair that sat in a corner of the room. The envelope was rather thin, and Eric wondered what was written on the pages it held.  
...Well, there was only one way to find out.  
Breaking the seal and tearing the envelope, Eric let the papers slip into his hand. All of them looked as official as their reports from work, having been typed up on the typewriter Alan kept at home. The first page didn't seem to be anything extraordinary; it was simply a page saying that if anyone was reading this, Alan must be dead and that his final wishes were enclosed in the following pages, which Eric flipped to.  
The part that interested him immediately were what Alan wanted done with his body; he had been right in saying to Spears that he wanted a burial, but it didn't seem to be exactly like the ones humans had.

_I want to be buried in a field; if Eric is not the one reading this, then ask him which one I mean; he'll know._   
_When I am buried, I wish to be dressed in my complete work uniform, including my glasses. If possible I would also like my scythe buried with me, but I understand if this is denied._   
_I wish for Erica flowers to be placed on my coffin, and planted above it if at all possible._   
_I do not want a gravestone or marker of any kind to be placed above my body; please try to leave the field as beautiful as it is now._

A smile almost curved at Eric's lips as he read the words; it was so like Alan to not want to disturb the field. And yes, Eric knew just the one he was talking about, and even had an idea of where to have the body buried. All in all, there weren't any requests that appeared unreasonable. There was another small list of things regarding the funeral itself, but Eric found those of no importance at the moment and set all the papers aside, save for the one about the burial. With the grace of a lumbering bear, Eric made his way back to the bedroom to dress for the day.  
The golden light of early morning from before was gone, replaced by the almost white light of noon. Making its way through the bedroom window as best it was able, the light shone on the back of Alan's head and cast shadows on his face, accentuating the fine features it held while also hiding the sunken look of his cheeks and the unpleasant pallor of his skin. In Eric's opinion, Alan looked more alive then than he had in months.  
Eric stood on the threshold for a while before making himself enter. Rummaging through a drawer, he pulled on a random pair of pants and a shirt, throwing a jacket over it anyway. The death of a Reaper was rare, but Eric knew of one such person who would have at least some idea of what to do. Leaving the still body laying in bed, Eric folded the page of Alan's Will into his coat pocket, grabbed his scythe, and portaled himself to the human world.


	3. Stinging Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To hear one laugh over death was nothing Eric ever found pleasant.

Most Reapers knew of the one who now called himself Undertaker; technically they weren't supposed to talk to or interact with him, but considering he randomly showed up at the Dispatch or the Library, that rule was one even Spears rarely enforced.   
Eric stood outside the small shop, hands jammed in his coat pockets as the autumn wind blew on his back. It was an unseasonably cold fall that year, Eric had noted, which would only mean a freezing winter. Eric didn't even bat an eye when he remembered the previous winter and the ways he and Alan had kept warm, instead tossing the memories aside and entering the shop. It was dark, horribly lit, and smelled like... well, Eric wasn't sure he wanted to know what was making that smell. However, the place also seemed to be empty, which irritated him greatly.  
“Hello?” he bellowed loud enough for anyone in the back of the shop to hear. “You here? If not I'm just gonna wait around until you are.” Then he added under his breath, “Not like I got anything better to do today.”  
Silence resounded through the shop for a few more moments, before a creaking could be heard from one corner. Eric turned, completely unaffected, and watched as Undertaker pushed open the door of the coffin he was occupying. “Well helloooo there,” the grey-haired Reaper said as he slid out of the casket. “Don't believe I've ever seen you around here, Reaper Slingby. What can I offer you? Information? You know the price if that's what it is.”   
He crossed the room in a few steps to the back, where apparently he began pouring apparently hot tea into things that looked remarkably unlike something Eric would want to drink tea out of.  
“It's not information I need,” said Eric, leaning against the door frame and indicating that he absolutely did not want tea. “So don't expect to get a laugh out of me today.”  
Undertaker nodded. “Then do you need? Or did you just come to enjoy my company like that redheaded friend of yours?” He gulped down tea from a beaker, then gave a grin that could rival the aforementioned redhead.  
“I need a coffin.”  
Undertaker around to fully face Eric, still holding the beaker, now empty of tea. “A coffin, you say? Well, you certainly came to the right place then. May I ask who it's for? Are you helping with the preparations for one of your own reaps?” He chuckled at the thought of it.   
“My partner, Alan Humprhies, he died this morning. Need a coffin to bury him.” From his pocket Eric produced a cigarette and a match, lighting up and breathing in the warm smoke.  
“Your partner, you say?” the other grinned, stepping closer. “The little one with the brown hair?”   
Eric's only reply was a nod.  
“Ahhh, I see. How did he die, may I ask? It's so rare for a Reaper to pass on like all the humans do; was he struck down by some demon on an early assignment?”  
For a few moments, Eric didn't answer, but the other man's look was infuriating him and if he could get him to stop he would. “He had the Thorns of Death. That answer your question?” The drag on his cigarette was long, and he breathed out a long breath of smoke.  
Almost immediately after, Undertaker burst into a fit of laughter so hard that he fell to the ground, clutching his stomach.   
“Oh the Thorns! HAHAHAhahaha! A Reaper struck down by a disease, and one of the heart no less! How truly hilarious!” He continued clutching his stomach, almost rolling around with the force of his laughter. “You said not to expect a laugh out of you today but you're giving me the best one I've had all week AHAHAHAHA!”  
Eric stood there for a moment, dumbfounded; then a scowl crossed his face. Bending down, he picked the other Reaper up by the front of his robes and slammed him against the nearest wall. The force shook the shack of a building, causing a candle holder to fall. Cigarette clenched between his teeth, Eric growled, “Don' you dare laugh about Alan; he's dead and I swear to the Gods I will not hesitate to reap you RIGHT NOW if you don't shut your mouth about him!”  
Undertaker still shook with the force of suppressing his laughter as Eric held him to the wall with increasing force. “Hehe, hehehehe, I see you had some strong feelings for your partner didn't you?” He laughed again, but when Eric pressed him harder against the wall he stopped. “Very well, Slingby, very well. I will prepare a coffin for your little partner and prepare him for his burial, but I'll need to keep his body here.” He dusted off his robes when let down from the wall. “I assume there will be a funeral for him? All his friends and coworkers coming?” The Undertaker suppressed a chuckle. “The funeral of a Reaper; that'll be a first for me. Should be very interesting.”  
“You're not invited,” Eric determined, creating a portal back to the Reaper's realm to retrieve Alan. He came back a few minutes late, cradling the body carefully in his arms. It was visible how much laughter the other was holding in, but Eric made sure with glares that he was in no mood.  
The hardest part was handing Alan off.   
“I've never seen the body of a Reaper taken by the Thorns; even I had only heard stories of them. This will be very interesting.”  
“If there is one fucking hair out of place on his head-”  
“Relax, Slingby, relax; I take the utmost care of my clients, and your little Alan will be no different to me than any of them, I promise.” He held out his arms to take the body. Eric hesitated a moment, before reluctantly handing him over.   
“Very good,” Undertaker said. “Don't forget, I'll need a set of the clothes he wants to be buried in, and the location of where the burial will take place so I can deliver him to you. Before you tell me again that I'm not invited, I will not attend as a guest; I will only be there as a man making sure my work is satisfactory.” Again, his grin could have rivaled Grell's. Eric rolled his eyes, turning his back on the sight of the elder Reaper holding Alan's body.   
“I'll get it to you,” he mumbled. “Just gimme a bit to get everything together.”  
Before Undertaker could reply, Eric was halfway in his portal home.  
…  
The flat was cold when Eric returned, and he decided to crawl back into bed and sleep for Gods knew how long. Stripping again from his clothes, Eric pulled the blankets back over himself, closed his eyes, and decided not to breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't write Undertaker I'm sorry!


End file.
